


come to your senses

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Wolves, Broken Bones, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Pack Dynamics, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Titans Tower au, Whump, Wolf Instincts, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Jason is supposed to be his brother.  Jason is supposed to be pack.Jason is not supposed to be attacking him.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 112
Kudos: 920
Collections: Avidreaders Batman completed faves, Red Hood vs Red Robin





	come to your senses

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thunderstorms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706531) by [Periazhad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad). 



> Peren: give me an idea for pack!verse.  
> Peren: okay now you write it.
> 
> This takes place in that verse - if you haven't read it, everyone's a wolf shifter, and Tim joined the family while Jason was still Robin.
> 
> I, of course, promptly looked at it and thought 'but how do I make that sadder'.

The Red Hood was Jason Todd.

Tim couldn’t believe it. Had, in fact, stared at Bruce, slack-jawed, as the man bit out terse facts while treating Dick’s injuries.

The Red Hood was his big brother.

Jason was _dead_. Dead and buried, and it was the worst day of Tim’s life – watching Bruce come back from Ethiopia with a body instead of a boy, watching his pack collapse under the weight of the grief, wishing desperately that he’d stopped Jason, that he’d gone with him, that he’d died instead –

Jason was dead. Jason was…not dead, and Tim didn’t know why or how, but it _should’ve_ been a cause for celebration. One part of his heart had stuttered in desperate, painful hope – and guttered when he saw Dick’s grey, unconscious face.

The Red Hood had nearly _killed_ Dick.

Two gunshot wounds. Three broken ribs, a broken arm, and a dislocated shoulder. Dark shadows extending from the broken nose, and colorful bruises ringing his throat. And all of that had been before the explosion.

Batman had almost gotten there too late. Dick had figured it out, had _begged_ Jason to return home, had weathered his fury – but he’d refused to kill the Joker, which was apparently where Jason had lost it.

Not that it mattered anymore. The Joker was dead, impaled on rebar when the building had blown up, Dick had narrowly avoided the same fate, and Batman had been greeted with a hail of bullets upon his arrival.

Bruce had sent him to Titans Tower a couple hours after Dick had woken up. Away from Gotham. Away from his apparently murderous undead brother. Tim wanted to protest – Jason had _never_ hurt him, not once, however mad he’d gotten at Bruce or Dick, he’d never taken it out on Tim – but the mask recording had been…terrifying.

_“You never cared about me. Not after you got a new little brother. I wonder, will you show up to_ his _funeral?”_

Jason was his _brother_. Tim couldn’t imagine any reality where Jason would hurt him. Any reality where Jason would _kill_ him.

But Tim couldn’t deny that the scowling, malicious face in the mask footage was in deadly earnest.

There was no one in the Tower. It was the middle of the week – everyone was back in their home cities, or out at school, or doing whatever teen superheroes did with too much free time on their hands – and Tim had taken to pacing the empty halls to get rid of the once-buried feeling of abandonment.

It was stupid. Bruce hadn’t abandoned him. Dick needed him, and Gotham needed him, and…and _Jason_ needed him. Bruce needed to fix things, and he couldn’t worry about Tim while he was doing it. Tim was supposed to be Robin, was supposed to be _helping_ – they needed to figure out how Jason had come back, why he was so angry, what he was doing – but he’d seen Bruce’s stricken face and conceded the battle.

Tim would stay in San Francisco, far away from potentially murderous big brothers, and wait until it was safe to come back.

In the meantime, he was researching ways to come back from the dead. The Lazarus Pit had been one of the first things he’d landed on – uncharacteristic fury, and the fact that Jason was bigger and taller than the fifteen-year-old that had run away – but despite all the theories and conjectures, the Pit couldn’t actually bring someone back from the dead. From the brink, yes, but Jason had been dead and buried.

Necromancy? Tim made a mental note to have Bruce talk to Constantine. Clones and shapeshifters had been ruled out, it was clear that Jason had his old memories, and the precise, violent grace of an assassin was layered over the instinctive flair that he’d learned as Robin. Tangled timelines was also a possibility, and Tim jotted down another note to have Bruce contact Barry.

But why was he so _angry_? Tim had seen Jason’s temper grow worse that last year, had watched him lash out at Bruce’s impassiveness and Dick’s well-meaning concern, had observed silently as Jason’s rage was bottled up, higher and hotter, but Jason had never been violent with his own family.

Maybe if Tim had stepped in, had defused the situation, Jason wouldn’t have felt the need to run away. Wouldn’t have died. Wouldn’t have come back furious and vengeful.

But Tim had stepped in too late, and now they all had to live with the consequences.

Tim’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the banister – _failure_ , he could hear in his mind, _all your fault_ – and he exhaled raggedly before letting go. An endless loop around the balcony, covering the same tread over and over and over again as Tim tried to make sense of what was happening.

The empty training area called to him. Maybe an hour of beating the stuffing out of a punching bag would help him think. Or help him _not_ think. Tim needed to get this roiling mess of emotions out of his head.

The back of his neck prickled.

Tim already had a hand on his staff, it was the work of a second to snap it out to full length, bringing it up into a block before he finished twisting. _Paranoid_ , something in his mind hissed, _you’re losing it_ – and then it stuttered, because it turned out that Tim _wasn’t_ alone.

That red helmet was more eerie in person.

“The bo staff,” the distorted voice drawled, “Interesting choice, Replacement.”

Tim stared at him, unable to reconcile the bitterness of the tone with its speaker. The Red Hood came closer, rounding the edge of the balcony and stalking towards him.

Tim swallowed, and resisted the urge to retreat. “Jason?” he asked softly, and Hood’s movements stuttered.

Gloved hands reached up to the helmet and unlatched it, pulling it off in one smooth motion. A domino mask underneath it, but Tim knew what his brother looked like with a mask on. “Surprise,” Jason said sardonically.

There were so many things swirling around in Tim’s head, but all he could fixate on was his brother, here, _alive_ , right in front of him. “How,” Tim whispered, staring at Jason, trying to memorize his features, trying to fit the harsh twist of his lips to the fifteen-year-old’s scowl.

“You really should’ve changed my passcodes,” Jason said. Tim opened his mouth – that wasn’t what he’d meant – but Jason withdrew a familiar object and snapped out a bo staff of his own.

Tim’s mouth went dry. Jason – Jason wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in Gotham. Bruce had sent Tim away to be safe, but he hadn’t actually believed that Jason was after _him_.

Not until now.

“You didn’t earn Robin,” Jason snarled, “ _I_ was supposed to decide whether or not you’re worthy. You stole it, Replacement.”

“Jason,” Tim said slowly, backing away. _You were dead_ seemed a bit indelicate to say. _You were dead and Dad was trying to kill himself and I’m so sorry, but I didn’t have any other choice_. “I’m sorry –”

“Oh, you will be,” Jason said, his voice turning cold, “Because we’ll have your test right here and now.” He twirled the bo staff, before his hand snapped closed around it. “Let’s see if you deserve that R.”

Tim didn’t wait for the attack – he took off running, which was what he should’ve done the moment he’d seen that red helmet. Jason just laughed, heavy boots following behind him as Tim found the nearest alarm.

He tugged at it, but nothing happened. Jason grinned. Tim skittered back as he advanced, finding the next closest panic button.

Still nothing.

“Like I said,” Jason drawled, “You _really_ should’ve changed my passcodes.”

“Jason,” Tim stuttered, “You don’t have to do this. I – I don’t want to fight you –”

“That’s a shame, because I _do_.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim continued, retreating as Jason advanced, “I’m sorry for taking Robin, you can have it back, I promise, it’s yours –”

“That’s sweet, baby bird,” Jason laughed, and Tim had never hated that nickname more, “But too little, too _late_.”

Tim caught Jason’s attack on his staff, twisting with the movement to duck away from Jason’s retaliation and hop back out of reach. In a proper duel, Tim might’ve won – he was one of the best with the bo staff, and unless Jason had trained with Shiva during his missing years, he was unlikely to match him – but Jason was armored and suited, and Tim was wearing only workout gear.

“Jason, please, you don’t have to do this,” Tim repeated, dodging a swipe to his face and staying on the defensive, “I’m sorry, I’m _really_ sorry –”

“You wanted to be Robin,” Jason said coldly, lashing out with faster and faster movements.

“You can have it back,” Tim said desperately, “I was just – I didn’t mean to – I –”

“Didn’t mean to,” Jason mocked, “Didn’t _mean_ to dress up in my suit before my body was even cold? Didn’t mean to steal my place? Oh, you must’ve been _thrilled_ when I ran away – you finally got all of Bruce and Dick’s attention.”

Tim’s jaw dropped, he couldn’t help myself. “ _What_? Jason, no, how could you even say that –”

“You want to be me so badly?” Jason snarled, “I’ll show you what it feels like.” His attack was a flurry, he was backing Tim into a corner, and Tim couldn’t stay on the defensive. He dodged Jason’s lunge, and snapped the staff out towards Jason’s armored midsection.

Jason didn’t so much as flinch.

“Finally fighting back,” Jason said viciously, “Good. This is a fight I’ve been waiting for.”

Tim’s fingers stung with the force of Jason’s blows vibrating through the staff – twice he almost dropped it, and the last save was ungainly. He kept the staff out to block Jason’s next strike, but he wasn’t fast enough to pull his fingers away – a loud _crack_ , a burst of pain, and Tim strangled the scream as he stumbled back.

Calculated attack. Jason oh-so-considerately waited for him to clutch the staff with trembling hands, grinning ever wider. He wasn’t trying to defeat Tim. He already knew he could. He was trying to draw it out.

“Jason,” Tim said, his voice wavering, because he couldn’t understand, “Why are you doing this?”

Jason actually paused at that, and Tim froze, wondering if it’d gotten through to him, if it had made him stop and _think_ –

“Because I can,” Jason said softly, and attacked again.

Tim didn’t get another breath to speak. Dodging Jason’s blows took up all his concentration, and his arms _rang_ whenever he was forced to take a strike on his staff, broken fingers pulsing in agony.

Tim wasn’t fast enough. Not to avoid the strike slamming into his ribs, definitely cracking something as it expelled all the air in his stomach. Not to jerk his fingers free before the staff crunched down on broken fingers, finally tearing a scream from his throat as he shifted to a one-handed grip. Not to stop Jason from just reaching out and _yanking_ the staff out of Tim’s shaking hand.

He flipped back as Jason lunged forward, bending back to avoid the strike, and curving into a one-handed handstand to kick up at Jason’s face. The kick connected, sending the older boy stumbling back and giving Tim a moment of breathing space.

His ribs were burning, his right hand was throbbing, and he was panting heavily. Jason, on the other hand, just rubbed his jaw and straightened, exuding fury.

“Big brother Dickie’s taught you some tricks,” Jason said coldly, his words turning malicious, “And how is he, by the way? The Bat showed up before I could finish the job.”

“He’s your _brother_ ,” Tim whispered, horrified, “Jason, he’s your pack, how could you –”

“No,” Jason snapped, “I _died_ and not a single one of you avenged me. You’re not my pack. You’re not _family_. And if I need to break some wings for you to get that through your thick skulls, I’ll do so gladly.”

“Jason,” Tim said softly, “This isn’t you.”

“Unfortunately for you, Replacement,” Jason shrugged, “You don’t get to decide who I am.”

Tim dodged the first strike, and the second, but not the third. He didn’t manage to peel himself all the way off the ground before the staff slammed into his back. He couldn’t suppress the groan, or the scream as heavy boots trod deliberately over broken fingers.

Jason gave him a moment to push himself back onto trembling feet. Tim saw the strike coming, and slipped to the side – surprising Jason enough to let Tim slide past him and sprint for the end of the balcony and the stairs leading down.

Jason cursed behind him, and Tim ran faster, not slowing down when he finally hit the stairs – he took them at a leap, practically jumping down as his injured hand skimmed along the railing, heart beating in his throat as he heard heavy footsteps following –

His heel caught the edge of a step.

Tim landed wrong, ankle twinging painfully, and his knee immediately crumpled to compensate, years of lessons in falling correctly rearing its head. His hand clamped down on the railing to arrest his fall.

His fingers _shrieked_.

His body immediately moved to adjust, yanking the weight away from his broken fingers and back down to his ankle and Tim didn’t hear anything crack, but he _did_ feel the sharp slice of pain tearing up his leg.

The booted footsteps didn’t stop. Tim struggled back upright and hobbled down the last steps, fire in his ankle growing louder and hotter. Jason was only fifteen steps behind him.

“Okay,” Tim said, taking a stumbling step back. And another. He couldn’t run. Not like this. “Okay, Jason, you win. I don’t deserve to be Robin.”

“Nope,” Jason said, grinning maliciously, “And you never did.” Ten steps.

“I’m sorry,” Tim offered, “I’m sorry. I never should’ve taken it.” _Please, let it be enough._ _Please,_ please _, let it be enough._

“You shouldn’t have,” Jason agreed. Five steps.

“I won’t use it again,” Tim promised, “Jason, I swear, I won’t wear it again –”

“No,” Jason said, taking his time to descend the last few steps, “You won’t.” He spun the staff in his hands. He didn’t collapse it.

“Jason, please –”

“ _Begging_?” Jason scoffed, “And you dared to call yourself Robin?”

“You got what you wanted,” Tim whispered, his mouth dry, “Jason –”

“You spent three years wearing a costume you didn’t earn,” Jason said flatly, shifting his grip on the staff, “I haven’t collected all my dues.”

Last step.

Tim tried to step back, but his ankle wavered under his weight and he dropped to his knees. “Jason,” Tim tried, but there was no hint of his big brother on that face. None of Jason’s fierce protectiveness or mischievous boldness. None of his loyalty or compassion. Nothing but hate. Hate and rage.

_Replacement_. Jason’s fury at Tim taking his place. Tim wanted to explain that he didn’t mean to, that no one could replace Jason, that Jason’s death was a black hole in the middle of their pack, but the words weren’t coming out. His throat was thick and his eyes were prickling and the only thing in his mind was that his brother hated him, his brother was angry with him, his brother was upset and Tim didn’t know how to fix it.

He shifted, the wolf offering a last comfort. He twisted onto his back, baring his belly and his neck, and squeezed his eyes shut to wait for the torture.

_I’m sorry_.

* * *

There was a wounded pup keening on the ground. Head down, belly up, trembling in submission. A scene he’d seen so many times before. A scene he’d _been_ in so many times before.

An injured pup, trying desperately to appease their abuser.

The green hesitated, caught off guard by instincts that weren’t human, and didn’t recover fast enough to block his shift.

The whimpering grew louder when eyes cracked open and landed on his wolf form – he was bigger than he last remembered being, bigger and heavier, and when he let out a startled growl, it was unexpectedly deep.

The pup broke into a soft howl and he couldn’t stop the growling. Hurt pup. Scared pup. It wasn’t running or howling for pack, so it was alone. Defenseless. Helpless.

It wasn’t just scared, it was _terrified_. Jason padded closer as he scanned the room, hunting for any sign of a threat, a low warning growl rumbling out. The pup was trembling, belly still bared in submission, and the whimpering stuttered into silence as he got closer, sounds stuck into little hitched breaths.

Jason circled the pup, but couldn’t find any trace of a threat. No fresh scents in the room aside from his and the pup’s – all the others were days-old. Surely someone hadn’t hurt the pup and _left_ them here?

How could they just abandon them? Didn’t the pup have a pack? Who would just leave an injured pup all alone?

Jason’s growls increased in intensity, and the pup started whimpering again. They had closed their eyes again, tears slipping into fur just beginning to lighten into gray, and Jason stepped closer, growl dying to a rumble.

No one was hurting this pup. Not while he was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere until he found whoever had hurt them, and _tore their throat out_.

Jason nosed at the pup, trying to figure out where they were hurt – he couldn’t smell blood, but one of its front paws was crooked. They _reeked_ of terror, and it only swelled when his muzzle dragged along the bared belly, trembling going stock-still, but unable to hide the pained whine when Jason skimmed over their ribs.

Poor pup. Jason could smell _hurt_ oozing out, hurt and misery and terror and grief, and Jason carefully curled around them as he settled down. He couldn’t smell or hear any threat, which meant that he could focus on the lost, injured pup. Jason carefully nosed at it, pushing gently at its side, rumbling softly to cover the pup’s scared whimpers, until it finally understood and tipped with the movement, sprawling on its side.

Jason would’ve ideally wanted the pup to curl up, nudge it fully out of the submissive posture, but the pup was injured and Jason didn’t want to make it worse. Instead, he wormed closer, curling around them to ensure that the pup was surrounded by _strong-angry-protect_. He wouldn’t let anything get close to them.

Jason licked at the pup’s fur, grooming them slowly and carefully, cautious around the injuries and being as gentle as he could. The pup’s whimpering died down to hitched sobs, and Jason rumbled louder, trying to cover the pup in _protect-safe_ to drown out the noxious scent of terror. There was nothing to fear. Jason was here, and he was going to keep the pup safe.

The pup made a hitched gasp every time Jason used his teeth to tug at a knot in the fur, even though Jason was being gentle, and Jason kept up the rumbling, rubbing his cheek against the pup. The pup was safe now. Jason was protecting him and he was safe and once Jason was done making sure that the pup was fine, he could shift back and get the pup some treatment.

He – where _was_ he, anyway? This wasn’t home. This wasn’t Gotham. This – what had happened? Everything was foggy and Jason remembered green, green everywhere, green drowning him, green blocking him from the wolf, from shifting, from pack.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. _Where was his pack?_

Fear – laughter – _agony_ – he couldn’t breathe – _alpha, please, please, it_ hurts _–_

No. _No._ Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Whimpering cut through Jason’s raised hackles, and he aggressively licked the pup in apology.

He needed to find them someplace safe – the middle of the room was too open, especially with an unknown threat lurking around them. Especially when his pack was missing. Especially when he _didn’t know where he was_.

Jason delicately bit down at the back of the pup’s neck – whimpering turned into a howl, and Jason nearly dropped the pup in surprise – and carried them away, using his nose to sniff out somewhere defensible. The pup was really too big to be carried easily, but Jason was much bigger than he used to be, and the pup wasn’t trying to fight, lying limply from Jason’s jaws.

Jason found a room that wasn’t a den but smelled like one, happy scents overlapping each other and filling the room with _safe-home-joy_. The pup let out a broken whimper, and Jason let them down next to the couch, nosing around their belly and licking an ear for being a _good_ pup, and being patient and letting Jason carry them.

  
This room felt brighter, and the acrid scent of fear wasn’t everywhere – the pup had stopped whimpering, and lay there quietly as Jason groomed them, the overpowering terror dying to something more sour. Unhappiness, and surrender.

Jason made a commiserating noise, licking more furiously as though it would make up for the pain. Poor pup must still be hurting. Jason should really get them to a doctor, but he didn’t know where their pack was. Maybe their pack had caused the injuries – Jason’s first pack had been like that. He didn’t want the pup to be forced back to them.

But Jason couldn’t take care of a pup, not even one that was almost grown. He wanted his _own_ pack back, he wanted alpha, and Jason’s mournful howl echoed through the room, calling for a pack too far away to hear it.

To his surprise, the pup stuttered out a howl in response, the sound hitched, but swelling to meet Jason’s call.

Jason rubbed his cheek against the fur in a wordless _thank you_. Such a good pup. Their pack didn’t deserve them.

The pup calmed down as Jason continued grooming them, the fear fading out fully to _confused-upset-surrender_ , and Jason carefully nosed all over them, hunting for any scent of their pack. He needed to know who had left them all alone.

_Left him all alone, and he was howling and howling and howling, but no one came to help, no one answered him, and he died all alone_ –

Jason pressed his nose further against the fur, making the pup squeak, and chased down a lingering scent that smelled…familiar.

Smelled like pack. _His_ pack. Jason huffed out a surprised breath, and dug further to be sure.

It was a little different, the scent slightly changed, almost like it was missing something – no wonder Jason hadn’t recognized it before – but Jason could never forget that scent. Pack and home and family.

The pup _was_ his pack! Jason did some more licking, in apology and to cover up that he hadn’t recognized his own pack, and settled over the pup, curling around him to keep the threats away. He yawned, and let his head rest on the pup’s. He found pack, and now all they had to do was wait for alpha.

Everything would be okay.

* * *

“We have a problem,” Oracle said, crackling through the Cave speakers, and halting Dick as he eased off the bed in an attempt to make a break for it. Bruce’s smothering had started to get annoying, especially since he’d dialed it up to eleven after the Jason bombshell.

The _literal_ bombshell – Dick had absolutely no idea what was going through his little brother’s head, and trying to figure it out had netted him four broken bones and fourteen stitches.

“What?” Bruce asked from the Batcomputer, giving Dick a steady stare until he flopped back on the bed and sighed.

“Someone accessed Titans Tower fifteen minutes ago using Jason’s passcodes, and I can’t reach anyone or anything in the building.”

Dick sat upright, ignoring his twinging ribs. Bruce’s face had gone bone pale.

_“I wonder, will you show up to_ his _funeral?”_

No. _No_. He couldn’t. He _wouldn’t_. Not Jason. _Not his little brother_.

“The zeta tubes –”

“Locked,” Barbara said crisply, “I’m trying to hack into it now.”

“The Batplane will take two hours,” Dick said softly. Two hours too long. Dick had barely managed to hold Jason off for thirty minutes.

“Can you hack through the zeta?” Bruce demanded, surging out of his chair and stalking towards the transports. Dick pushed out of the bed, ignoring the broken bones and tugging stitches and throbbing burns and the giant aching bruise that stretched over everything.

“Almost there,” Barbara replied distantly, “He used his codes, but he doesn’t know your failsafes.”

Bruce gave Dick a glare as he limped closer, hastily pressing a domino mask to his face as he grabbed his escrima in one hand. “No,” Bruce said flatly, and Dick ignored him. “You’re injured,” Bruce said, his jaw clenched.

“My brothers,” Dick said resolutely, “My pack. You can’t stop me.”

Bruce looked like he sorely wanted to test that, but Barbara made a short cry of victory and the zeta tubes flared to life.

“Stay behind me,” Bruce ordered, and Dick saw no reason to disobey. For now.

The Tower was silent when they entered, silent and empty, and Dick clenched the escrima stick in his hand as they made their way through the building. Bruce shifted, the wolf more equipped to track, and Dick felt a shiver run down his spine at the growl.

He wasn’t happy.

They tracked a scent to the training area, near the stairs, where Bruce stilled – he nosed at the stairs, walked around the training area, and turned his head in the other direction.

“Split up?” Dick asked, looking at the two directions, “Tim went one way, Jason another?”

A slow, deliberate shake of the head, and Bruce shifted back to human for a sitrep. “The scent changes here,” Bruce said, drawing a line from the stairs to the doors, “But both of them went that direction.” He was frowning, actually, visibly frowning, and Dick tightened his grip on his weapon.

“Lead the way,” he said softly, and Bruce shifted back to the wolf.

The scent ended at the games room, and Bruce stalked through the door to the sound of fierce, warning growls. The rumble grew louder as Dick poked his head in – an older wolf, an adult gray, was standing over a small, curled-up pup, hackles raised and teeth bared.

Bruce slowly took a step closer. The growling continued. The pup made a soft sound, and Bruce responded with his own rumble.

The growl stuttered, and died.

For a moment, everyone was still.

Then Jason leapt forward with an excited bark, almost plowing through Bruce. The alpha kept his balance, rumbling back in clear confusion, but Jason didn’t seem to care, rubbing against Bruce in apparent happiness.

Okay. Dick lowered the escrima. This was…unexpected.

Tim pushed himself up, and promptly tripped over himself with a startled cry – Jason immediately broke off greeting Bruce to hover worriedly over the pup, like the mother hen he always was when it came to Tim. Bruce edged closer slowly, but Jason made no signs of aggression, and moved aside for his alpha to check on his little brother.

Dick wasn’t sure what was going on here, but he couldn’t help the pang in his heart at the complete one-eighty from the furious, malicious young man that had held a gun to his head just a couple of days ago.

He must’ve made some sound, because Jason snapped his head towards him, hackles raised again. _Shit_. Dick stumbled back, but he’d misjudged where the doorway was, and by the time he stepped away from the doorjamb, the wolf had already lunged.

Dick was forced to drop the escrima to cushion his landing on his unbroken hand, and he couldn’t help the sharp hiss as his ribs protested both the harsh introduction with the floor, and the hundred-pound wolf on top of him. Dick raised his hand in a futile attempt to protect his face from the sharp claws – why did Jason hate _him_ in particular, Dick didn’t understand, could Bruce pull Jason off of him before he tore out Dick’s throat –

Those weren’t claws. Or teeth. That was a _tongue_ , licking messily over his face and across his hand and Dick dared to open his eyes. Jason was sniffing all over Dick’s face, licking at Dick’s hair with more happy barks, and Dick felt his muscles uncoil. Jason moved lower, nosing at Dick’s throat, and he couldn't help the pained sound when the cold nose pressed against the bruises.

Jason made a low growl, slipping back to investigate properly, and Dick was forced to stare at the ceiling as Jason licked over every inch of his neck, examining the collar of bruises like _he wasn’t the one who put them there_.

…Wasn’t he the one who put them there?”

“Mind control?” Dick called out, still extremely confused, and gasped when Jason nosed at the vibrations.

“Possibly,” Bruce called from inside the room, “Tim’s injured – broken fingers, a cracked rib, and a twisted ankle.”

“What – what triggered him and what snapped him out of it – _stop, Jay, that tickles_ – and just – _Jason_ – I have too many questions,” Dick huffed, attempting to push the wolf off of him with one working hand.

Jason grabbed his arm playfully, jaws closing around his hand and tugging – Dick winced at the remembered memory of dislocation, and tried to yank his hand back. Jason refused to let go, and shifted his weight, right above a patch of burned skin.

Dick managed to strangle the scream, but couldn’t do anything about the tears. The weight on top of him vanished, and low whimpering started – Dick registered a lowered head and flat tail through his blurry vision.

Dick hissed and levered himself into a sitting position – the burn was throbbing now, but he breathed through the pain and reached out for the wolf huddled next to him. “It’s okay, Little Wing,” Dick tried to smile, “Just be careful.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile the enraged, vicious killer that had blown him up with the trembling wolf next to him, but that didn’t stop him from running his hand through his little brother’s fur.

Jason whimpered again, nosing into his hand, and pushed up, licking his face to apologize. Dick let him, trying not to grimace at the rough tongue, and looked up – Bruce had appeared in the doorway, his arms full of Tim, who hadn’t changed back.

Tim gave a quiet howl when he saw Dick, and Bruce gently laid him down in Dick’s lap. Dick moved his hand from Jason’s fur to Tim’s, and Jason switched his attention as well, nosing at the pup with the full force of his protectiveness, like he always had.

“What could’ve turned him into _that_?” Dick asked softly, smiling as Tim surrendered to Jason’s mother-henning, giving an annoyed bark before curling up in Dick’s lap. The Jason that had taunted Dick, that had threatened to kill Tim, that had broken his arm and _laughed_ while he did it, was nowhere to be found.

Bruce didn’t answer, and Dick looked up. The biggest wolf was licking at Jason’s fur, grooming him as aggressively as Jason was fussing over Tim. “ _Bruce_ ,” Dick said sharply, and his alpha ignored him.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Dick said flatly. Bruce rumbled, but didn’t meet Dick’s gaze.

Dick threw up his good hand with a groan. “Great,” he grumbled, “Leave me as the poor, injured human in charge. Glad to know that we can all avoid talking about what happened here by shifting into wolves. Our problem-solving skills are _fantastic_.”

Bruce made a low, rumbling sound, and Dick narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Jason and Tim’s heads also swung Dick’s way, and he felt a thrill of trepidation.

“What are you –” Dick yelped as he was attacked by three tongues, “Guys – stop – _that tickles_ –”

**Author's Note:**

> When Jason shifts back, he's a confused mix of 'protect pack' and 'kill everyone', and they eventually figure out that the Lazarus Pit only affects the human side of him. Jason spends a significant amount of time as a wolf while Bruce comes up with a treatment, though both Dick and Tim could do without the constant, overbearing affection as Jason's apology for hurting them.


End file.
